61800
I do not like onions
And it’s fine with me if you do
Was told by my mother before I took my first steps
It would be spit out before I would chew
And once finally able to read on my own
Green Eggs And Ham by Dr. Suess
Confirmation that I would not eat an onion
On a boat, on a plane or in a caboose
With a Cheshire cat kind of grin
They all begged for me just to try
But I watched them slice it in the kitchen
Wiping a tear from the corner of each eye
So it didn’t make sense for me to partake of something
Seemingly having the absence of any joy
I often climbed out of my stroller in avoidance
To seek out in another room my favorite toy
Erector sets and Lincoln logs I had
Anything I could use my imagination to build
Blueprints were constructed within me
Completing anything my young imagination willed
Heart palpitations and spasms of hesitancy
When called to join the dinner table
Ready to feast with knife and fork
If seasoned with onions, I just was not able
And I was made to sit there alone
Until every morsel was consumed from my plate
Family passing by and looking down
The clock striking seven, then eight
And sometimes I waited it out
Past nine and approaching ten
homework to do for school the next day
that was finally when
they released me from my sentence
I had more important things to do
And I currently still detest all that it stands for
Onions
then and still today
I sincerely hate you
